The Book of YouKnowWho
by DarkFoxEyes
Summary: AU: Julian, Voldemort's son, enters his first year at Durmstrang. Trouble of a strange sort always seems to follow him. Of course, he has his father's advice to refer to. Not to mention, Laurie Malfoy and Elliot Prince are right there with him.
1. On Jokes

**_Disclaimer:_** I don't own Harry Potter. I do own any original characters (and there are a lot) as well as this plot.

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Seeing that my cousin is taking her sweet time to update (in particular, _Celestial Requiem _and _Dark Reflections_), I've decided to satisfy my own impatient writing muses and put this out. If her fans are reading this, she's working on her stories! And I think she's locked me out of her room to make me stop bugging her about Harrison Evans this and Maia that and Thanatos over there.

I'm sure that everyone has a renewed interest now in Tom Riddle after we found out about his past in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Seeing that seems to be filled with primarily angst-filled fics after this latest release, I came to the conclusion that all of us need a bit of humor. That, and there's been a renewed interest in the concept of Voldemort having – heaven forbid – a child.

Thus, I will parody this, much like Raven has done with Maia. However, I'm taking it further. Much further.

By the way, this is completely and totally AU. And there will be no slash among the main characters. Nothing against it at all, but I just don't see that happening.

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The Book of You-Know-Who Wisdom from the Dark Lord Voldemort 

_**PROLOGUE: ON JOKES**_

I personally don't know why I was so surprised when I found out that they were publishing this. When I received the letter, as well as a complimentary copy of the first draft, I blinked in bemusement and then decided that this must be a joke. Having personally known and taught the authors throughout their magical education at Durmstrang Institute of Magical Study, as well as being their advisor and primary disciplinarian (which I was a role that I had to bear all too often, I assure you), it should not have surprised me in the very least. Those three were always getting into some kind of trouble…or trouble found them; it was sometimes hard to tell. But trouble was always there, nevertheless.

Perhaps they merely were sending this off to get proofread and bound in book form, then would make a few copies and send it off to a few friends to get some good laughs. It would be like them – they always enjoyed having a good time.

Then I reached the end of the letter, wherein I was requested to pen a prologue. A prologue to this piece of work – a serious, honest to high Odin prologue. Sitting at my desk, looking over a few papers and having a good vodka with Professor Dmitri Markovic, I believed I laughed myself into stitches until I saw a tiny drawing on the back of the parchment from Quillsbury Publishers – a tiny little smiley face, the message next to it in handwriting that I think I could probably identify even another fifty years from now.

The message_: "This is not a joke, Voro. Can't wait to see what you've got to say!– J. C."_

I don't think poor Markovic was expecting to be sprayed with vodka; granted he did brush it off with his usual rare combination of temerity and class. All he did was clean his spectacles with a handkerchief and asked what holy hell did those three wreak upon humanity this time.

The incident speaks for itself.

You may wonder who they are as people. I will not hesitate to tell you that they are, both as a group and as individuals, brilliant and wonderful young men. They possess a lot of cheek and disrespect, but they usually mean no harm by it – when they do this, they're probably going for a laugh or two. And the messes they get themselves into! I don't believe I've ever encountered the things that they brought to Durmstrang – from pet gargoyles to time warps to house-elves renamed Roscoe – along with the many stories that they managed to come up with. Eavesdrop on them if you ever have the chance, you would wonder if they were either extraordinarily intelligent or completely daft. I would be the first to admit that they have their faults. But most are of the acceptable sort and they usually make for it in their own way.

I've been teaching for neigh over forty years. When they arrived as first years, retirement was already being planned and there was a nice cabana in Tahiti that had my name all over it. I had gotten bored with the usual Durmstrang fare. There was a distinct lack of variety and personality: mostly the same arrogant little purebloods who expected favors, especially from the teachers that taught their parents.

But I had a feeling. I had a feeling that the tiny little boy with the black hair and glasses would be something – he actually reminded me of a young Dumbledore by the way he smiled and that accursed twinkle in his green eyes. He was chatting animatedly to the slightly taller and excitable boy that had that debonair quality that makes him so identifiable now (and an infamous lady-killer). And standing far from them was a young boy with white-blond hair that seemed to think that the other two (along with many of their peers) were beneath him.

They have come along way since then. A very long way.

After that first year, I decided that it was better that I stay awhile. And the former headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, practically begged me not to leave. Most of the staff was under the impression that I was the one with the most control over the son of the Dark Lord, the heir of the infamous Malfoy family, and a mischievous potions prodigy. This was met with mocking disbelief on my part, even though it was true. But I bet Markovic and Fabre could have managed if they tried. Not that they would, but they could.

I won't deny this: by far, they are the best students I've ever taught and I'm proud of them. No question there. Even if they called me "the Voro".

That's all I have to say. Hopefully, you'll manage to dredge some entertainment out of this. The point is to laugh after all. Take the advice that the Dark Lord Voldemort gave to his son as you like it. Just don't go out and start killing people. Both these boys and I have found that really doesn't do much for one's social skills.

Though it must be admitted that the Chamberlain branch of infamous Slytherin line probably never will ever be known for their social skills. But what do you expect from that bunch?

This is the story of Julian Alexander Chamberlain, Laurence Abraxas Malfoy, and Sebastian Elliot Prince.

Of course, they call themselves Jules, Laurie, and Elliot.

_- Professor Mikhaila Vorona, Headmistress of Durmstrang Institute of Magical Study_


	2. On Continuing the Bloodline

Disclaimer I don't own Harry Potter. I do own any original characters (and there are a lot) as well as this plot.

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**Chapter One**

**ON CONTINUING THE BLOODLINE**

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**_ON CONTINUING THE BLOODLINE:_**

"It is every proud pureblood's responsibility to produce a pureblood heir and continue their bloodline. It should be done with care though. You don't want to look at your progeny and think, 'This is not going to work out.' Because, chances are – you're right."

_- Lord Voldemort_

* * *

There came a time in Voldemort's reign of terror that he began to become concerned about the continuation of the Slytherin line. Even if he was immortal due to all his forays into dark magic, there was still the fact that it might be useful having an heir. Perhaps as a controlled and loyal second-in-command, a faithful follower that could handle a few tasks in governing and maintaining a dark empire. 

And being a Dark Lord was tough work.

Sure. It didn't look like it was on first glance. Most people were under the impression that Dark Lords did nothing all day but plot evil plots, kill people who they wanted to kill, torture people who they wanted (or needed, but the line between the two often blurred – as found by a study by the prestigious Deducis-Hareton Institute of Research and realized by most dark wizards in general anyway through just plain practical usage) to torture, laugh maniacally, throw the occasional enraged fit, order people around, display his extraordinary brilliance and cleverness, rant angrily about annoying 'goody-two-shoes' enemies, deal with idiot minions, deal with the idiot Ministry of Magic and its idiot Aurors, deal with the idiot Order of the Phoenix, and maybe get in some illicit dark reading squeezed in there if some idiot didn't decided to bother him.

He was lucky to get basic _scheming _in his schedule. And that's what he enjoyed the most – along with the murder of his enemies, but on a **daily **basis, scheming was his favorite activity. And finances! Voldemort was an incredibly brilliant individual. He couldn't have gotten this far if he wasn't. But he hated working with numbers. There was no doubt that he could do the basic things needed, it was just that it irritated him immensely. He would rather be reading a good book than trying to balance the cost of waging a full-scale wizarding revolution/killing spree. For the most part, he left all this to Lucius Malfoy – it gave the blonde man something to do other than argue with Bellatrix Lestrange.

Another person to lend a hand around the metaphorical home would be nice.

Thus, Voldemort made a decision. He would have an heir. So, he sent out various agents around the country to look for potential women to bear his child. His preference would be that the woman be magically powerful, intelligent, had some nerve in her, as well as be decently good-looking. Which, in Voldemort's mind, wasn't too much to ask for, really.

…Not to mention had a somewhat sane and stable mind. After witnessing Bella's eyes light up when he dispensed the news to his so-called 'Inner Circle' (…or, in his mind, the people that pissed him off the least and probably had the most gray matter between their ears when it came down to it), it became part of the list as well. It did make things difficult though – none of the female Death Eaters really applied, then.

Surprisingly, it was that cowering oaf Peter Pettigrew that provided the perfect mother for his unholy child. When Pettigrew approached him with an offer to spy on Albus Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix (or, as he privately thought, the Order of the Incessant Gnats, because that's what he thought of them), he brought along the unconscious body of his best friend's cousin. Elizabeth Alexandra Marlowe's mother was the sister of Simon Potter, the father of that annoying James Potter. She had taken refuge from the war in the Netherlands due to the deaths of two siblings before Wormtail had abducted her. After Wormtail related his "harrowing" tale of daring to procure the perfect specimen for a mother, Voldemort dispatched Mulciber and another person (he didn't care who) immediately to clean up the mess left behind. A mess that included fingerprints and traces of identifiable magic.

Truthfully, she filled all the requirements. Though Voldemort was more partial to blondes than brunettes, she was okay in the looks department. No stunner (_damn!)_, but okay. She was a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts and showed high aptitudes in Transfiguration and Arithmancy. That filled out the power and intelligence quotas. Plus, she was also described to be very levelheaded and down-to-earth. From the way Wormtail waxed on this, the Dark Lord could only assume that she led a very boring life discussing make-up and dress robes while getting high scores and dating Quidditch jocks and what-not. Normal, nothing extraordinary. And normalcy was something Voldemort never really found a love for.

…He had her put in the dungeon for a month before he realized that Elizabeth Marlowe was the best candidate he had.

So, he did his pureblood duty (_ahem, ahem!_). She got pregnant and had to be watched over constantly so that she didn't commit suicide. Apparently, for some reason that Voldemort could and had fathomed and found insulting, she had a problem giving birth to the progeny of the greatest dark wizard of the times.

Nine months and a few days later, his son was born. It just so happened that the child happened to be born on Voldemort's own birthday. December 31st, 1978 marked a great day in Death Eater history – even though there was an intercepted attack on the Longbottom family in Lancashire, they were greeted with wine and good food. A party if you will. The Dark Lord was in a good mood and handed out cigars. They enjoyed it while it lasted, which was until the next morning.

As according to his plan, he had Elizabeth Marlowe killed. The woman was whole-heartedly on the side of the Light, so to speak. She was already making preparations for a desperate escape with his son. Taking his newborn baby in his arms, he immediately went to his own personal healer and a couple of magical experimentalists who used to work in the Department of Mysteries. They were to give the child special potions and the like, increasing his knowledge and magical power. This would take about a year to accomplish if done successfully (and that was…guaranteed, if you will). While his son was gaining years and was safe hidden away in a nice hideaway in Northern Ireland, Voldemort would continue his work.

He did not name the child officially yet. If the child died in the middle of those preparations, he didn't want any emotional ties or things like that. That just made things complicated.

It was a year later when he saw his boy again. He was already walking and speaking in small sentences. The healer was exclaiming over the child's progress over the year, saying it was a magical breakthrough. To increase magical intelligence and power the way they had was unheard of. Voldemort was concerned over other matters.

The main being: the boy's health. The healer had made mention (very briefly) that the young toddler was prone to occasional bouts of severe migraines and a tendency for releasing magic. The theory was that his body was still adjusting to the changes. Recalling his own difficulties due to his transformations, he understood this. But Voldemort noted the boy's tiny size – he had seen the children of some of his Death Eaters at this age and they were much taller. He also saw that the boy inherited most of his looks – the pale skin and large green eyes stood out strikingly in the gloom of his stronghold.

The black hair was definitely Potter hair though. Neater than most Potters, but still it was definite Potter hair.

Seeing the boy's quick conclusions of his situation and the crackle of defensive magic that severely burned his fingers when he approached the lad, he could only assume that the healer and his colleagues had done their job. Seeing the almost defiant glimmer in the boy's hesitant smile, the thought _'This is not going to work'_ flashed briefly in his mind.

He pushed this to the far back of his consciousness. It remained there even when he found a pheasant going berserk outside his bedroom door the next morning. A pheasant that had once been Bellatrix Lestrange, who was "innocently" trying to take a peek at the Dark Lord's heir (whom she had not given birth to).

He named the boy Julian. Julian Alexander Riddle.


	3. On Nurturing Environments

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I do own any original characters (and there are a lot) as well as this plot.

EXTRA LONG CHAPTER FOR WAITING FOR SO LONG.

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**Chapter One****  
ON NURTURING ENVIRONMNETS**

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_**ON NURTURING ENVIRONMENTS:**_

"Fine. Let him have the toy. Maybe a few more or so. As much as I hate to admit it, children need…nurturing environments. It's the only way to assure that the child grows up to be have somewhat of an intelligent and stable mind…Mordred, I sound like that mudblood-loving bastard, Dumbledore."

_- Lord Voldemort_

* * *

He watched Mr. Wormtail scuttle away with interest and mild disdain – as much as a child could meld the two expressions anyway. For some reason, the older man really annoyed him. He wasn't sure whether it was because there was just something…rodent-like, if you will, about him (even when not in his rat-form). Or it could be how the small shifty man always piled oily compliment after compliment on his person. From his limited experience and from what his father always said, people who did that weren't your friends. According to his father, those were the ones you had to watch out for – because they were really just buttering up to you to put you in a false sense of security. His father worried about things like that.

Unfortunately, nearly everyone in the Dark Lord's compound fell into that category. Granted, none of them to the extent that Mr. Wormtail had.

So, it was understandable that the precocious son of **the **Lord Voldemort was a bit lonely. There weren't any other children in the complex. He had heard Mr. Theodore Nott talking about it with Mr. Pluto Parkinson – something about nurturing environments or something like that. Despite his exceptional intelligence, he couldn't figure out what a nurturing environment had to do with having a kid stay at a place. After all, **he **was here, right? And it wasn't as if he was a bad person.

At least, he thought that. He wasn't, was he?

Julian Alexander Riddle, all of three (four in December) years old, was a curious child by nature. This was not something his father, the dreaded Lord Voldemort, approved of in many circumstances. However, let it not be said that the Dark Lord didn't have his own soft spots. And besides, this trait was believed to have come from his mother's side of the family – they were known for being nosy and meddlesome. One would just have to look at the cousin of his mother, James Potter.

Julian Riddle was a strange merger of his father's (previous) aristocratic good looks and of the rakish features his mother's male relatives possessed. His hair was dark brown and messy, but it was somewhat workable if he made an effort with a comb. It always stuck up in the back though. The rest of his features seemed wholly his father's, except for his smile and his glasses. His vivid grass-green eyes were constantly inquisitive and questioning. He was, in short, adorable (and the nice blonde lady – Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy – said he especially was when he was wearing his formal robes, but he disagreed – those were uncomfortable). But all the same, he did disturb the Death Eaters a great deal. Whether it was the fact that they were seeing the progeny of their master in front of them or that they were reminded of James Potter about to right before he was going to set their trousers on fire when the boy grinned was never really settled.

But he didn't know that.

And right at that moment, he didn't care. He smiled mischievously and scampered down the corridor to his rooms. He waved cheerfully to the black-robed men that guarded the passage to the private rooms, ignoring the fact that they pointedly looked away from him in deference. He never really liked all that formal stuff, probably because it bored him. And he was a bit annoyed at them because they never played with him – they just stood there. He didn't know why – it didn't make sense to him. **No one** went down to their personal chambers and besides, there was a thick iron door blocking the way further down the hall. It had all these nasty enchantments on them – he could see them. Though it did make him wonder how come others couldn't.

Julian usually liked looking away from it anyway, seeing the twisted and corded web of colors of enchantment made his head hurt.

He passed the horrible door and ran further down – deftly missing the trick steps on the way – to his own rooms. He didn't like them all too much – it was all grays and blacks, the bare stone floor often made his feet cold. He made do though – there were always the dungeons. He didn't like that place – he knew he wasn't supposed to go there, but he just couldn't help it.

Most of the people he saw down there were really sad and when he got a chance to talk to them, they usually thought he was a hallycination. They sometimes told him about their lives, which he found interesting sometimes, and he would ask them questions ("_What was an Auror? Where's Cardiff? That sounds like fun, when can **I** go to Hogwarts?")._ A lot of them thought he was something called an angel, others a demon – he assumed it was something religious, since most things that had do with this God fellow were. Julian had heard of God before – he gathered that his father was trying to compete with him on some level. Either way, he didn't like those people – they would always ask **him** questions, sometimes they would yell at him when he didn't know the answers.

Then there was that man with the long black hair with the doglike laugh who was there a couple of weeks ago. He liked him. He was funny and liked to make jokes and did funny faces. The nice lady with the red hair and green eyes that was with him didn't seem to like that he was being so happy, but the man laughed and said he was always serious. Julian didn't get the joke, but he could assume it was an old one – the lady smacked the man over the head. It was too bad that they left though – even his father seemed to miss them because he threw a fit when he found out they were gone.

And they actually listened to him, too. But he didn't understand what the man meant when he said, "_You mean Snake-face can actually get a woman? And get her preggers? And have bloody sex-ow, Lils!"_ Julian decided it was just something adults did – talking about weird things that didn't make sense.

He remembered the last night they stayed…

"_Here you go, kid!"_

"…_What's this?"_

"_What do you mean? It's a ball!"_

"_A ball?"_

"_Oh, that's so sweet, Sirius!"_

"_Well, I was going to give it to Harry, but…well, I thought I might as well give it to this little guy. Hope you don't mind, Lils."_

"_I don't. And they do look a bit alike…"_

"_Yeah, he could pass as Harry's older brother!"_

"_Um…mister?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Um…what do I do with this?"_

"_What do you mean? It's a ball! You can do tons of things with it. And it's even more fun when you throw it at some poor bloke. You know what? Nail Lucius a good one for me. Get him right in the head, that rotten pompous, stick-up-the-arse bast – OW! C'mon, Lily, throw a dog a bone!"_

Julian threw the red rubber ball into the air and deftly caught it, smiling at the memory. Maybe they'd meet again someday. And who knows? He might be able to meet that Harry person. Then he could be a big brother! Maybe.

At least he would have a friend, right?

* * *

Julian liked his brothers, but he got the feeling their father liked him best for some reason. It didn't exactly make him feel happy – his feelings towards his father had always been a bit cool ever since that nasty black mark was put on his arm when he was two. IT REALLY HURT! And no matter how many times he tried washing it off, it **stayed**. He really hated it. And sometimes (okay, a lot) it would hurt.

When he met his brothers for the first time (he was about two and a half), he got the feeling his father wasn't expecting them either. Julian didn't like their mothers – they were…what did Bellatrix say they were? He couldn't recall the word _(it sounded like they were digging for gold and were…itches? He already knew they were witches, but that wasn't what Bellatrix called them. It sounded similar, though.)_, but when he asked Mr. Rosier about it – he laughed and said it was something that nice little boys didn't learn to say until they went to school. When Julian retorted, throwing back Mr. Rosier's own comment on being "_a troublemaking little devil,"_ he laughed even harder. And the man wouldn't let him use the dixcionry either, saying that he was too small and would hurt himself.

Mr. Evan Rosier was the man who was in charge of him, most of the time. His father said it was because Mr. Rosier had a brain and that you needed one to take on a Moody (Julian assumed that Moodies were dangerous). His father really liked Mr. Rosier for doing this and he asked his opinion a lot – which meant that he must be really smart, because his father really didn't listen to anyone. Julian had to agree – Mr. Rosier knew **a lot **of big words. The older man – whose smiling face and genial nature belied his awesome dueling prowess – taught him a lot of spells. The boy loved his lessons (which made his father happy), though he really disliked math.

And he was told that when he was older his job was to keep accounts, too! But Mr. Rosier told him that there were Malfoys for that, so he shouldn't worry.

Philip and Gideon were his older (half) brothers. He liked Philip the best – he was the oldest and he knew **a lot**, but not as much as Mr. Rosier. Philip was EIGHT, so he was **old**. From what they could tell from their father's old pictures, it was Philip who probably resembled the Dark Lord the most. The eight year old had smooth and straight hair – though it was more of a blue-black than dark brown. Like himself and his other brother, Philip had the characteristic green eyes. But Philip's were a blue-green, like the water in the pictures of tropical places that Julian would see in his books.

_(It should be noted that why all three of them ended up with green-colored eyes was a mystery – neither Voldemort nor any of the three women that gave birth to his sons had them, or in their ancestry with the exception of a few hazel-eyed persons. A widely respected healer and researcher from the Deducis-Hareton Institute of Research, Joseph Jones, would later speculate that it was a strange manifestation of their considerably strong magical powers. Most other people thought that it was a strange and freakish coincidence of nature, especially when all three of them and Harry Potter were looking at you at the same time. It would be even more disconcerting if they all had the same expression when doing so.)_

Philip held himself **properly**. But Julian had the most fun with him – the older boy enjoyed setting traps for the more annoying of the Death Eaters. Seeing as Julian could pull of a face of complete incorruptible innocence even better than he could, he was a perfect accomplice to Philip. In many ways, the younger boy was reminded of his father in Philip, but Philip wasn't as strict or mean (_He lets me have chocolate cake!_). But their father didn't like him so much – Mr. Macnair said it was because Philip's mother was a halfblood froggie. When he asked if the woman really was a frog, Mr. Rosier answered that Philip's mother was just **French** and Mr. Macnair didn't like French things.

Thus, Julian could only assume that frogs came from France and Mr. Macnair was just very confused. How else could an **adult** mistake a human for a frog? Humans weren't green…unless they were sick, but that was it.

_(Later in life, Julian would discover that Macnair's dislike of all things French had to do with three bottles of wine, a "saucy" French "maid," waking up with no money and an impressive hangover in a park, a soggy croissant, and a dull knife. The man could have tolerated everything else – but the knife? It was **dull**. That was the clincher. Dangerous implements with edges should be **sharp**. Anything else was blasphemy to Macnair's philosophy.)_

Gideon was…different. Once again, it seemed as if Julian was the only one afflicted with messy hair – his brother's was also straight and usually cut short, and it was auburnish-dark brown. Unlike Philip and himself, Gideon's eyes were a calm green-gray. He **liked** rules (something the other two really didn't enjoy following). Mr. Rosier explained this by saying that because Gideon was the "middle child" (two years older than Julian, two years younger than Philip); he had to find his nitch ("_niche"_). Gideon always made sure that Julian did his lessons and followed the proper rules at dinner, like eating his vegetables. The Death Eaters liked him best – most likely because he caused the least amount of trouble for them.

At the moment, Julian was reading over his **The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2** with indolent boredom. He knew most of the theory already – it wasn't hard to make the connections between the weaker spells of the first book and this one. It was just a matter of simple modification and changes in words, but the most important part of it all was _intent_. That was what made the difference between an itching spell and a stinging spell, a stunning spell and a pure freezing spell.

This is probably what endeared Julian the most to his father – his innate grasp of magical theory and magic itself. Though a great deal did have to do with the experiments that happened, there was some natural talent involved.

"Put the book away, Julian. I won't have you sighing and then causing Merlin-knows-what chaos with that restless mind of yours." Rosier smiled benignly over several recent editions of the Daily Prophet. The young boy never understood why the older man liked to read the newspaper – it rarely ever made his father happy, so he figured that newspapers didn't have anything good to say.

The young boy squinted over at the grubby pages. On the front page, a picture of a spry old man waved up at him. Giving a smile back, Julian waved as well, making the man in the photo laugh. The man – who had a very long white beard – seemed to be offering him some candy when Rosier took that paper away. Needless to say, he was disappointed.

"Who was that, Mr. Rosier?"

"That was Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Oh," Julian nodded. "That's the man that father dislikes, right?" He frowned in confusion. "But he seems so nice."

"He is, I believe."

"Then why – "

"They're _very_ different people with very different goals. And different people often don't get along."

Julian thought about this. "Because Father doesn't like candy, you mean?"

Rosier snorted in amusement.

* * *

Dinner was always tense. This was probably because the way dinner went all depended on Voldemort's mood – and seeing as though Voldemort liked tension everywhere except where and when he was trying to relax, dinner was usually unsuccessful.

Irony seemed plague Lord Voldemort – it was something to pity him for.

As usual, Julian sat next to his father, across from Bellatrix (Rodolphus was out for some "fun"). He was sure that better seating arrangements could be made, but they obviously weren't going to be made anytime soon. So he contented himself with making the occasional face at the woman, or magically switching her plate with something else (like a bowl of petunias). He'd sneak a few pieces of meat from his plate to his red-blotched tabby kitten, Oberon – who was hiding under the table – when his father wasn't looking.

On his other side was Gideon, then Philip. At the other end of the small table, which piled high with food, was Lucius Malfoy. Julian smiled at the older man, but it wasn't returned – the responding look was a mix of a grimace and exasperation. This probably had to with his latest experiments in charms – changing shapes and colors.

Feathered hair was bad enough. Add in bright blue and you've got a disaster for everyone except the modern punk girl. And Lucius Malfoy was neither a modern punk nor a girl, much less a modern punk girl. He was a **Malfoy** – thus, what would ordinarily just be a regular disaster had turned into a catastrophe of apocalyptic proportions.

This would have been literal, if not for the Dark Lord being there. It has been historically noted that most Dark Lords have the useful ability of preventing their minions from killing when they absolutely don't have to.

"My Lord, if I may excuse myself –"

Voldemort gave a level glare. "No. Suck it up." Philip snickered, Gideon blinked in bemusement, and Julian wondered what that meant. "We are having dinner, I **'invited'** you, and we'll all be present for it! Is that **clear**?" Lucius sulked with as much dignity a Malfoy could muster under such circumstances. "Now, I hear you have a son about young Julian's age?"

Julian turned to look at the (formerly) blond man, but was distracted by a sharp prickling of claws. Oberon wanted some more food, apparently.

"Yes, my oldest son." Lucius seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "But I'm not sure if Laurence would be an appropriate playmate for his young lordship here."

"Why not?" Julian interrupted, frowning. "Is there something wrong with me?" He looked around the table for confirmation before turning to his father. "Is there?"

"Yes, Lucius," Bellatrix wheedled. "Why **don't **you tell us why your son shouldn't be a companion to his Lordship's heir? Is widdle precious Laurence too good for the son of the Dark Lord?" Gideon kicked him, a clear gesture meaning _'Look what you've done now! You better keep your mouth shut.'_ Philip, however, looked on with interest. Voldemort – who had been there, done that, bought the t-shirt, was unsatisfied and killed the vendor for (ironically) selling him a low-quality product that said _"I'm with stupid," _then took all the money as compensation – looked on with annoyance, his eye twitching impatiently as he attacked his steak with his (**_sharp_**) knife in agitation.

Lucius tried valiantly not to rise to the bait. He did succeed in failing valiantly to do so. "Really, Bella, so petty?" Bellatrix imitated him babyishly, before gagging on a petunia. "It is only that I believe that Laurence's personality would clash with Master Julian's…"

"You mean zat he iz a znobby zpoiled brat," Philip interjected, his French accent tingeing his English.

Julian, who trusted Philip's words as if they came from the source of all knowledge itself, made a face of dismay. "He is! Then I don't want to play with him! I want someone to play ball with me and run around with and draw pictures with and stuff!" He pouted and crossed his arms across his chest. "If he's spoiled, then we won't have any fun!"

Lucius looked livid. Bellatrix's laughter made her nearly choke on the stubborn petunia. Philip looked on with enjoyment while the glare that Gideon was giving Julian did no doubt presage the inevitable lecture on "How to properly address one's elders." One that the younger boy had heard several times already and could recite by rote.

While deploring his son's forthrightness (no doubt, the Potter genes coming through once again), Voldemort conceded that Julian did have a very valid point. He could see the results in Lucius after all – the man didn't really offer him much in the way of entertainment, barring any magical mischief that befell the aristocrat whenever he was here to see him or the occasional gift of red wine.

A drunk Malfoy was always funny.

* * *

It was Halloween.

Julian couldn't sleep, even though he was supposed to be – it was very late. He wrapped a blanket around himself, clutching the sleeping Oberon in his arms as if he were a kind of protective talisman. The small boy tripped his way over to his room's small window.

His head was pounding, like primitive tribal drums were being played inside his brain, which meant a lot of magic was being done. And he felt in his bones that there was change. And he knew it was out there in that inky night, somewhere under the sky, far away, wherever his father had decided to go that evening. He was sure that whatever his father had set out to do did not go as planned.

He stayed in that same spot, staring. It was how the Aurors found him mid-morning the next day. His soundproofed room made it easy for them to surprise him.

A large Auror grabbed him roughly and hauled him out of the room, which would later raise large bruises on his arms. The man shouted at him – gibberish that could only be insults – shook him hard, and smacked him hard when he struggled. He bit the man on his hand when he had the chance and took off when the man howled in pain, doubly so since the kitten decided to contribute to Julian's escape attempt. He ran down the corridor in a panic, nearly tripping in his haste and avoiding grasping hands. Ignoring the red that stained the walls, the bodies scattered here and there.

He saw Gideon standing next to a man with a bandage over the tip of his nose and around his arms. The cuts on this man's face were a lurid red and his robes were stained with crusted dried blood. The Auror with the bandaged nose was yelling at another one, pointing at the prominent black eye that Gideon was sporting defiantly. However, this Auror kept a firm hold on Gideon's shoulder.

He didn't see Philip anywhere.

Julian ran over to him and gratefully took what comfort he could from his brother's hug, feeling the older boy's own nervous shudders. He ignored the bandaged Auror's renewed tirade against the muscled man that had assaulted him earlier, who now joined them.

He knew without being told that most of the Death Eaters ran away, leaving them alone.

He knew without being told that Evan Rosier, his faithful teacher, was soon going to follow.

He knew without a doubt that his father didn't come home last night, and wouldn't be back for a long time.

* * *

Jail wasn't fun. Julian knew this from watching the men his father had in the dungeons, but it was even more poignant to him now in the dingy cell. The surly guards looking in at the three of them, pointing and sneering, as if they were some proud and dangerous animals that were defanged and declawed – posing no threat now.

Gideon and Julian were reunited with a very banged up Philip at the Ministry of Magic. Upon seeing his younger brothers' injuries, he renewed his struggles and cursed the whole foundation of wizarding politics in both English and French. He also called the Minister a, quote, "bastard son of a hideous whore." (This would later be noted in Figures of the War Against You-Know-Who.) Once again, the bandaged wizard with the blood on his robes prevented anyone from hexing them. But he couldn't stop them from throwing them in a cell – Philip had managed to incapacitate two Aurors once he got his hands on a wand.

They took everything away from them, including Oberon. He managed to hide the red ball – it was all he had left. Philip slept only a few scant hours a day, not trusting their captors – whom he said were their father's enemies and wanted to hurt them. The oldest of Voldemort's sons was determined not to let anything happen to his brothers and took charge of the situation, as much as an eight-year-old could anyway.

He couldn't do much. They laughed when he fairly demanded that they be given a lawyer.

It didn't do much. But they retaliated in small ways. Turning guards into pigs, making erecting illusions so that their captors would run into walls, hexing their stuff. Wordless and wandless magic was something their father had drilled into them – it made them tired, and they weren't given the most wholesome of food, but they did what they could. And it did provide them some kind of amusement – something to keep away the gnawing feeling of abandonment.

After about a week, they were let out. Pale and shivering, they were escorted to the minister's plush office. It was apparently planned so that no one would see them – the halls they passed were deserted and empty. Julian, in the middle, clutched at the hands of each of this brother's, uneasy by the Aurors' ill-concealed disgust of them.

Three scant hours later, the minister of magic (who seemed frightened by the presence of that bandaged auror) decided their fates. Normally, it would have only taken one, but they were being difficult – it was hard **not **to insult the minister, much less the nervous man who was waiting there to give a report on some explosion. The guy's name was **Fudge** after all. They were to be separated and given to relatives of their deceased mothers, who would have the responsibility of making sure they were "raised properly."

Philip would be going to his aunt Clarice Montmorency who lived in the city of Angers in France – it wasn't a pleasant meeting. Clarice was a muggle, but she was from an old rich family. To be confronted with the son of her witch niece (the daughter of her disgraceful brother), a son who was born out of wedlock to boot, raised her ire and rattled her incredibly devout Catholic nerves. The fact that Philip was not the type to let anyone tell him what to do did not help matters. He gave each of his brothers a hug and a slipped a note into their pockets. His good-bye was reassuring, "Don't worry – we'll meet together soon. Keep your heads up."

Gideon's relatives were much nicer. But this was likely because Fiorenzo and Paola Segreti, his grandparents who arrived from Rome, were happy to have a child in the house again – circumstances of his parentage, birth, or his magical ability be damned. Gideon was their only grandchild from their only daughter, so they were happy to give him a home. Fiorenzo made inquiries about Julian's placement, even suggesting they would take the youngest boy as well, but the Minister adamantly refused – they were to be separated and that was that. Gideon embraced his brother and told him to stay out of trouble, as well as that they'll see each other soon.

It was another two hours before Julian's relative showed up. When he did, Julian knew that he wasn't going to be welcomed. The man that came forward was beanpole thin, with stick-like arms and legs, walking as though he was a poorly made and badly operated marionette. He carried himself with a kind of righteous snobbery that really didn't fit his image. Julian knew that this man was his mother's brother – but they didn't share any features at all. His uncle was red-haired with squinty brown eyes. The scruffy red stubble made his weak features even more so. The fact that his uncle was scowling at him as if he were the scum of the earth was not helping matters.

"Is this my sister's brat?" the man asked roughly. Julian frowned in further dismay.

"Er…yes, Mr. Crosse. This is your nephew. His name is Julian Riddle and he'll be staying with your family," the Minister said awkwardly, patting Julian's shoulder. The boy wasn't reassured in the least. "I know that you are a squib, but you are your sister's last living relation…"

Mr. Crosse – Uncle Russell – sputtered. "Wait one bloody minute! I came here to make sure that I _didn't _get this little bastard child of my sister's dumped on me!"

"But sir – "

Russell Crosse scowled. "Let me guess – ickle Jamesie wouldn't take the kid in? What's he got to fear now if You-Know-Who is dead! Figures that the oh-so-great James Potter would get his way – bloody Golden Boy always did. Give him the kid and leave me and my family out of this whole magic nonsense!"

Julian tugged on the Minister's sleeve. "Um…can I go with this James person?" He pleaded desperately, "_Please?_" Even the bandaged auror seemed sympathetic, but Julian could tell there was something more to this situation with this Uncle James.

"I'm afraid I'm the one to tell you this, sir, but your cousin James died last night – "

"Figures," Russell scoffed. "And I'm sure he's going to be known as some fantastic martyr now. You better not be saddling me with **his **kid, too!"

As Julian was led away with Russell Crosse to complete the paperwork, he saw that the bandaged auror was in a heated argument with the minister. He vaguely heard the comment, "Dumbledore can't know! He'll probably try and give them a chance! It's not happening again!" It seemed to end when a few gray robed wizards pointed wands at the auror and cast a spell. After a moment, they all dispersed.

Reaching for Philip's note, he read:

_We'll all be together soon one day.   
I'd like to see the Ministry try to stop that from happening.   
Our last names are too conspicuous – and we'll get the same treatment everywhere if we keep it.   
So change it to **"Chamberlain**."   
Good luck, little brother.   
Don't make too much trouble and take care of that blasted cat. _

_All my love,   
Philip _

* * *

Julian, despite the fact that he was not happy at all with his soon-to-be living conditions, did take an interest in the town that he would be calling home. Russell didn't say anything about it other than, "Shut up, I'm driving."

King's Lynn was the second largest town in the county of Norfolk, on east coast of England. It is situated on the mouth of the River Great Ouse where it flows into the Wash (an estuary). It is a regional center for what was a sparsely populated region of England. Julian assumed that's why Russell chose it – to get away from wizards yet not be completely isolated. He watched as their car passed the town center, admiring the Guildhall and the Town Hall. The town enthralled him – he hadn't been let out of the compound many times due to "safety concerns." With his face pressed eagerly to the glass, he espied a park full of flame-colored trees and piles of leaves on the ground where local children were kicking around a black-and-white football.

All too soon, they stopped at a rather ordinary house just off the corner of North Street and Saint Anne Street. The only comment that Uncle Russell had to make on the entire trip that was something other than grumbling about traffic or the Ministry paperwork or the hassle of the whole situation was when they passed Surrey Street. He mentioned that Surrey was a great place to live, especially the town of Little Whinging. Considering that all of Russell's conversational skills seemed to consist of _whinging_, Julian agreed that the older man belonged there.

It was a two-story house with windows that had rather frilly curtains. The lawn was meticulously cared for and it was obvious to Julian that there was a 'keep off the grass' rule. But the garden had not been stripped of the withering stalks and plants yet. But he was impressed with the two sycamore trees that grew tall behind the house. The front was of plain red brick and the roof was black with gutters overflowing leaves. The plain blue car was parked in the driveway.

His belongings, roughly thrust at him by his uncle, were considerably diminished – the Ministry took all magical objects away from him not only because he was going to live in a primarily muggle area, but also because Russell insisted on it. Oberon, who had been returned to him because the feline wouldn't tolerate anyone else, followed Julian closely – it was clear that the kitten felt that these new lodgings were beneath him. Then again, Oberon quickly dismissed Russell as worthless anyway.

They walked up to the door and after a moment to unlock it, proceeded inside. Russell read the note on the table in the foyer with a scowl before barking at him to go straight up stairs to the attic ("Just keep going up until you can't go any higher!") and going off to the kitchen, grumbling. Julian frowned in dismay before picking up Oberon (who was eyeing the upholstery) and going up to what would be his living quarters. The carpeted stairs still creaked under his feet.

The second floor, from what he could see, had four bedrooms – one was obviously the master bedroom, the other a guest one done up in a hideous shade of blue, a baby's room (the myriad of pink hearts and dancing cartoon characters were greeted with a grimace – elves didn't look like **that!**), and another girl's room in primarily purple and dark blue colors. The bathroom's location was noted – though Julian wondered how anyone could take a bath with the sheer amount of toys in there. He then found the attic stairs, at the other end of the hallway behind a door, hidden from sight.

The attic was rather depressing – but on the bright side, there was a lot of room. Julian tapped the floorboards with a tentative foot, testing the wood. The three small windows – circular and looking out over a field (was that water over there?), a warehouse, and the next-door neighbor's yard (who he could see was a rather grumpy-looking old man with…was that an eye patch?) – provided little in the way of light. A load of boxes had been shoved up to one end, precariously on top of each other. The rather musty looking bed was in the corner, with a thin blanket. And everything was covered with a thick sheen of dust.

The small boy sighed. Oberon mewed in dismay. "We're going to have a lot of work ahead of us." The kitten looked at him with disapproving eyes. "Okay, **I've **got a lot of work to do. I should know better than to inconvenience, your majesty."

"I'll help, if you want," a girl's voice interrupted. Julian turned around to see an older girl, probably close to Philip's age, with her arms full of cleaning products. Among the mess, he could see some paper and a few books. He made a face – his small height made everyone seem taller to him, and the girl was probably short for her age as well. She wore a plaid skirt, a button-up shirt that had some kind of symbol on it, knee-high socks, and shiny patent leather shoes – a school uniform. Her black hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, but the hair looked as though it couldn't be tamed – like his hair. Her hazel eyes observed him placidly.

She gave him a beatific smile before dumping her burden on the bed. "I don't think you could everything done by tonight all by yourself." The girl then frowned at him. "How old are you? You look like you're two years old."

Julian pouted. "I'm almost four!" He held up four fingers for further clarification.

"Oh," the girl commented flatly. "Oh well. We're all pretty short. Father says it's our 'damn Potter genes.' But don't worry about that." She handed him a rag and cleaning fluid, gesturing to the windows. "You start the windows and I'll sweep the floor first. By the way, I'm your cousin – Audrey."

"I'm Julian," he responded, noting that Oberon rubbed himself against Audrey's legs before making himself comfortable on the bed. "Umm…is there anyone else besides you and Uncle Russell?"

"I guess Dad didn't talk much," she mused.

"He only complained."

"That's what he does," Audrey sighed, in a manner that seemed all too strange for a young girl. "Well, there's Dad and me, but there's also my mum – your Aunt Delia – and my younger sister, Imogene. She's three – since last week, of course, but she makes a huge deal out of her birthday." From the way that she spoke, Julian could only assume that this was an understatement.

"Is she nice?" he ventured.

"Imogene or my mum?"

"Both, I guess."

"Mum's on the pretentious side – she always is looking for ways to make herself look better than the neighbors. Well, everyone except Colonel Petersen, but he's…he's Colonel Petersen." There was a dust pile growing at Audrey's feet. "She gossips all the time so look out for cheek-pinching nosy bints every Saturday at teatime. And Imogene…" The girl frowned. "She's a spoiled brat – Mum and Dad love to indulge her. She's probably not going to like you – she hates it when anyone other than herself gets any attention, even if it's bad."

"Why do they like her better?" Julian asked. "I mean, what's so good about her?"

Audrey shrugged simply, "When she was born, I gave my mum these bunch of dandelions when they were at the hospital. She made this big fuss about weeds – and I changed them into roses." She snapped her fingers. "Like that!"

The younger boy grinned and jumped up and down in joy. "So you're a witch! Great, 'cause I'm a wizard and I thought that there wasn't going to be any magic here at all!"

Audrey smiled grimly. "Yeah, but Dad's a Squib and he hates the fact that I've got magic. So he's pinning all his hopes on Imogene being magicless and 'normal.' Everything _has_ to be normal. It's why he hates Colonel Petersen." She pointed to her eye in admiration, "He fought in World War II – his stories are the best! He's been **everywhere **– Africa, Italy, France, even in Russia! Also, he's in this feud with Colonel Fubster down in Essex – it's funny to hear him cursing when Fubster sends him something in the mail." She grinned. "He's got magic."

"Cool…" Julian breathed.

"I know!" She then frowned and stopped her sweeping for a moment. "But, Jules?" Julian looked up from his window wiping, a warm feeling in his chest at the nickname. "Make sure you never mention the name of Vernon Dursley."

"Why?"

"Because Dad's in **_love_** with him."

Julian blinked as his mind, while rather advanced for his age, struggled to comprehend this information. "Really?"

Audrey nodded. She then grabbed a piece of paper and some crayons that were on the bed. She then scribbled on the page for a moment. When she was done, she held it up for him to see. "I've met him before and he's awful mean. This is what he looks like." Her drawing consisted of a large rounded square, with brown hair sparsely scribbled on the top and ears (half-circles) popping out from the side. The eyes were two white circles, beady, and Audrey added some red in them. The mouth was a mean pink slash. The second most noticeable things about the portrait were the thick black eyebrows and mustache. But to finish it all up, Audrey colored the entire face in purple.

Julian considered this. "He's one mean-looking git." He was proud to say that word – he'd heard Bellatrix saying that about some Snapey or Snappy person and his potions skills, along with other more…colorful epithets.

Audrey smiled. "Dad's got horrible taste, doesn't he?"

He returned the smile, though the high-pitched wailing of a little girl crying for ice cream downstairs vaguely disturbed him.

* * *

AUTHOR NOTES (PLEASE READ! SYMBOLIC STUFF EXPLAINED!):

Sorry for the lack of updates. APs, final exams and projects, as well as graduation have been taking up a lot of my time.

**IMPORTANT: **I am aware that Julian doesn't act or sound like a normal three-nearly-four year old kid. This is because of those magical experiments mentioned in the previous chapter. They sped up his intelligence and magic power drastically, as well as his maturity. This was done not only because Voldemort was impatient and that he wanted a powerful heir, but also because he probably would not be able to stand an ordinary child at this age. I can't imagine a Dark Lord being able to handle an energetic, curious toddler that needed to be entertained and taught while having to conquer the wizarding world at the same time – said Dark Lord would probably give up any megalomaniacal schemes he had, just sit down and cry. And Uncle Russell doesn't care much about Julian anyway, much less his intelligence.

For those who haven't figured it out, the "bandaged auror" is Alastor Moody. Evan Rosier, who was probably a cousin of the three Black sisters through their mother, was killed while resisting arrest soon after Karkaroff is captured. Sirius Black and Lily Potter were Voldemort's captives – this would have taken place in late 1980 – after Harry was born, but while the Potters were making preparations to go into hiding. They would have escaped at a time when Voldemort was probably busy doing something else – with help. We also hear about Julian's relationship to James, as well as Russell's.

Colonel Fubster is the friend of Marge Dursley's, who watches her dogs for her. And Russell does have an almost unhealthy admiration for Vernon Dursley – who ironically is also getting saddled with an abnormal nephew.

The men in the gray robes and the Minister's comment about Dumbledore will be explained next chapter. As will the ball that Sirius gave Julian.

King's Lynn is an actual town in England. The reasoning behind this that Salazar Slytherin was from _"the fen."_ Fens are present in Eastern England – particularly in the areas of Norfolk, Lincolnshire, and Cambridgeshire. As Julian would be **the **"Heir of Slytherin" because Voldemort considered him so, I felt it would be fitting that he would be brought here to grow up.

Julian's name was taken from Julius Caesar, the famous Roman military and political leader that brought down the Roman Republic (hint, hint). His middle name, Alexander, came from Alexander the Great of Macedonia. Voldemort wanted a name with historical significance that promised greatness.

Also, Julian of Norwich (a female 14th century mystic, considered one of England's greatest) was from Norwich (obviously), which isn't that far from King's Lynn and is in the county of Norfolk. She came up with the famous Catholic theological statement _"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." _This is important in the male 20th century Julian's character. For those confused, Julian was also used as a feminine name in medieval England.

Oberon, Julian's cat, is named after the King of the Fairies from Arthurian legend and Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

The switch to the last name of "Chamberlain" came from two sources.

The position of "Lord Great Chamberlain" of England is one of the Great Officers of State (below the Lord Privy Seal and above the Lord High Constable). He has charge over the Palace of Westminster, especially of the House of Lords, technically bears the Sword of State at state openings and closings of Parliament, and has a very important part to play in royal coronations, and is involved in investing the monarch with the insignia of rule. Joseph Chamberlain is a British politician, widely regarded as one of the most important politicians of the late 19th century/20th century despite never becoming Prime Minister. He was also a renowned orator. He was the father of Sir Austen Chamberlain and Neville Chamberlain, both also important figures in 20th century British and international politics. The Lord Chamberlain's Men was the playing company that William Shakespeare worked for as an actor and a playwright for most of his career. 

Philip's subsequent displacement to France is also of importance. The city of Angers was the center of the former county/duchy/province of Anjou in western France. According to Marvolo Gaunt in The Half-Blood Prince, he has a family heirloom with the Peverell coat of arms. This was taken from Wikipedia:

_The "House of Gaunt" could also be a reference to John of Gaunt, a major noble in 14th c. England (and father of Henry IV). This interpretation could be consistent with Marvolo Gaunt's claim to have the family ring of the Peverells, a noble family attested from the time of the Norman invasion (indeed, believed to be descended from William the Conqueror himself). It is also notable that descriptions applied to earlier members of John of Gaunt's family, the Plantagenets of Anjou (as being ruthless, sly, intelligent, terrifying, capable of excellent strategy but capable of spoiling plans through their immense fury), could be applied to Lord Voldemort, the last scion of the magical Gaunt family. It is also interesting to note that the Plantagenets were reputed to be descended from the Devil via his daughter Melusine (who fits the Gaunt naming pattern) and a Count of Anjou: it would be an appropriate lineage for the family of the Dark Lord Voldemort. _

_The presence of royal Muggle lineage in the Gaunt bloodline would appear to contradict Marvolo's claims that the Gaunt line is pure-blood; however, Rowling has stated that there are no, and have never been, any truly pure-blood magical families. This makes the claim of being descended from the Peverells plausible, and the idea of being descended from John of Gaunt or the Plantagenets possible. It's also possible that in the Harry Potter universe, the Peverells were secretly wizards. The Gaunts seem to have had a very noble past history and lineage; whether this makes their corruption, decline, and ignominious ending tragic or deserved, is, however, a matter of personal opinion._

Philip will play an important role later in the story. Especially if he's in the area where the wizarding tradition of the entire family itself would have supposedly started. And the act of placing him outside of Britain would definitely be explored. Philip was also a name widely used by noble families and by several kings (5 from Spain, 6 from France, and 5 of Macedon). His strong resemblance to pre-Voldemort Tom Riddle is also to be noted.

Gideon, though he isn't the oldest of the three, probably is the most normal and the one with the most common sense. He's a foil to Philip and Julian, who both inherited their father's tendency to attract trouble and be the center of attention. Also, Gideon would have the advantage of growing up in a more or less **normal** family that accepts him. His displacement to Rome, which in this story will have a lot of magical significance, is also very important. As a historical figure, Gideon was a hero of the Old Testament of the Bible (Book of Judges) who led the Israelites against the Midianites.

The fact that Philip, Gideon, Julian, and Harry all have green eyes is important. Julian and Harry's resemblance would also be an important factor, especially when we get to Harry's fourth year (feel pity for Karkaroff).

While Russell, Delia, and Imogene are the parallels for Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley – Audrey is possibly what would have resulted if there were a magical older sibling for Dudley. Audrey will be important to Julian, making his childhood somewhat bearable. Also, unlike the others – Audrey and Julian have a resemblance between them due to shared Potter-ness. If she wanted, she could probably pass as his older sister.

We also get the first mention of Laurence Malfoy, Lucius's oldest son (three years older than Draco). Julian's impression of Laurie as well as Lucius's response to any contact between them will feature greatly later in the story.

I think I've covered everything. I'll update as fast as I can.


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